No Title
by darkangel38
Summary: All Harry, Harry, Harry. He's pissed off at his class, and finds someone to help, but it goes terribly wrong. R/R =) [Note: The story isn't over till I put 'The End' so don't worry lol]
1. Chapter 1

*Wish I was too dead to cry,  
  
My self-affliction fades  
  
Stones to throw at my creator  
  
Masochists to which I cater..*  
  
"Come on guys, what did you think of the book?" Harry Senate crossed his arms loosely and leaned on the front of his desk as he stared at 20 blank faces. No one responded as he looked from one indifferent face to the next.  
  
"Did you even READ the book?" He uncrossed his arms and waited for one of his 'enthusiastic' students to speak up.  
  
"I think it sucked," a male's voice from the back corner barked out and some other kids turned to look at him while others smirked in response.  
  
"Well at least one of you is awake; why'd it suck?" he motioned to the kid wearing an upside down black visor. Harry had remembered back when those had been in style, when he was a kid. "The times they are a 'changing" Bob Dylan once sang. He was right.  
  
"It's racist!" The kid named 'J' called out again. More smirks elapsed from the classs, including Harry himself. J thought everything and everybody was racist. He was an African-American sure, but so was half of his class.  
  
"And just what's so racist about a war over pork?" Harry crossed his arms again intently waiting for J's big intelligent and well thought response. J leaned back in his desk and propped his leg up.  
  
"They killed the black guy - he was kickass," he responded and slapped five with a buddy next to him named 'T'(or what Harry only could see on his attendence list, were John and Terry). He was about to answer when a student near the front, Sarah, swiveled around in her chair to face J.  
  
"The 'black guy' was a murderer," she turned to face forward again, her long dark hair falling down her back.  
  
"So whatchu racist now too? So the dude made a mistake. Maybe he took too much E, it happens," J slapped anther five with his buddy at his mention of drugs in his response. Sarah, about to almost shriek back, was silenced by Harry as he held up one of his hands.  
  
"Anybody else read it?" He asked the remaining 18 half asleep kids. Nobody moved or even made notice that they had heard him, much less even know where the hell they were.  
  
"Two people read the book, then," his face darkened a little bit and he recrossed his arms across his chest. J started laughing with his buddy from the back.  
  
"Hey dude, I didn't read it.. But I did read the back," he laughed again, and Harry thought if he slapped 'five' one more time..  
  
"Well.." he uncrossed his arms and walked behind his desk and desk and picked it up a pile of papers. "I was going to save this for later, but obviously all of you feel they don't need to waste time reading the book since you know all of the information for the test." He looked down at his desk and made sure the stack of papers was aligned.  
  
"Test? I ain't having no-"  
  
"How unfair is this-"  
  
"Fuck that-"  
  
The whole class erupted in disagreement, and all began to talk at once.  
  
"Hey..Hey," Harry said loudly and the chatter died down.  
  
"This is really unfair, Mr. Senate," a female Harry had known hadn't read the book just because of her history spoke up. Harry considered his words carefully, then pounded the stack of exams down on his desk.  
  
"Unfair? You think THIS is unfair? What's unfair is you come into MY classroom to waste MY time. What do you think this is? A daycare center?" His face darkened even more. He was getting tired of the same crap everyday.  
  
"I resent that!" T said quietly and laughed.  
  
"You get paid," another kid, who's name escaped Harry at the moment, spoke up trying to be a hero.  
  
"I don't give a crap about the money," he shot back to the kid flabbergasted that after all his years of teaching these kids, they would still think that's why he got out of bed every morning.  
  
"Then why are you here?" Another kid asked and laughed. Harry left the tests were he had left them on his desk and walked back to the front of his desk.  
  
"What is wrong with you guys? Why do you even come here if all you're going to do is fuck around?" Harry raised his voice and -nearly yelled to his classroom full of students. Not one of them spoke in somewhat shock. They knew it was clearly mad.  
  
"Hey calm down man," J said from the back of the room. Harry noticed who said it and stalked up to him.  
  
"Calm down? Maybe I should calm down just like you and fail a couple grades, never get higher than a 30% on any test, because of all the weed I'd be smokin? Yeah, that is just so cool."  
  
J paused and looked at his friend T, still slouched down in his seat.  
  
"Yeah man, just like that." He hid a laugh. The rest of the class laughed quietly at J's response and Harry looked around. What was he doing there? Not one peron in his room cared. Not ONE.  
  
"Fine." He walked back up to his desk, took his suit jacket off the back of his chair, picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. "See if I care; go waste your lives.." he mumbled and left the classroom leaving them all in shock of his leaving.  
  
Harry walked a fast pace down to the end of the basement hallway angry and frustrated. He just couldn't understand why they would be so careless. He remembered the girl, Stephanie who had been part of his class. She had been a hooker he had later found out. Upon his finding out and attempt to help her get back on her feet, she had left and finally dropped out of school. It had been his fault. If he just hadn't of gotten involved...  
  
"Imbasols.." he muttered and tossed his briefcase hard onto the floor as it slid to the basement wall. He reached the stairwell going up and threw his jacket on the dirty floor as well. "God help me.." he muttered again and rested his arm on the stairway railing, putting his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. A headache was coming, he could feel his head starting to throb already as his heart rate quickened from agigtation. Only a moment later a voice alerted him.  
  
"Harry?" It was Ronnie Cooke. A co-worker of his, and an ex-lawyer whom he had dated a couple times. He looked up at her as she stood on the stairs looking down at him with those concerned eyes she seemed to bare a lot with him. He diverted her eyes and bent down to pick up his jacket and briefcase, calmed down a bit.  
  
"What's wrong?" she walked down a couple more stairs still staring at him with those eyes. Harry didn't look at her nor respond as he picked up hi things and walked up the stairs.  
  
"Nothing," he said in the most calm, serious voice he could manage. He could tell by the way she didn't move from her position on the stairs that his voice hadn't been convincing at all. But who cared right? It was his teaching problem, not hers. 


	2. Chapter 2

*You don't need to Bother..  
  
I don't need to be,  
  
I'll keep slipping further..  
  
But once I hold on,  
  
I won't let go till it bleeds..*  
  
Something was up with her. He had noticed something about her before, but had never really thought about it. His class had ended only 15 minutes later and the kids had piled out of the room with the bell. He hadn't expected them at all to wait that long. Harry sat on the stairwell. After making the mistake of going up to 'ground level' and running into Steven Harper. Boy did that man get on his nerves sometimes. It was never a personal thing, however. But their work relationship sure suffered sometimes. He had gotten the famous Harper lecture and had been ordered back to his classroom, all the while Scott Goober, *the* most annoying man, nearly busting his face - he wanted to say something. Harper had silenced the short man though and Harry had been grateful for that. He would have sworn if Scott would have piped in one word, he would have shot him on directly to the mouth.  
  
The class walked down the hall towards him, taking notice that he was there, sitting on the 3rd stair to the bottom, now dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket and briefcase now absent. They hadn't said anything though as they filed up the stairs on his right side, one by one. A few embarrassed looks were turned his way but he didn't look back. Instead he noticed her.  
  
Her name was Ashley Whitmore. She was a 'loner' if one wanted to put labels on people, and hardly ever talked. She was in his class, and throughout the year of teaching her, he could hardly remember if she had said one word.  
  
She was the last one out of the classroom, and upon leaving, she seemed to debate in her mind whether to shut the classroom door ot not, but then she spotted him sitting on the stairs and opted to leave it open. Ashley's warm eyes were hidden by light framed glasses and her fine brown hair hung down on her shoulders. She didn't seem to look different from the other kids, which was why he could never understand why they didn't seem to like her. She always gave insightful answers on tests and exams but he noticed lately that her once high scores had drastically slipped to a below passing mark.  
  
She walked towards him then, about to head up the stairs to most likely her locker, and her eyes were on the floor. Her shoulders were slumped more than usual, her face in a low frown. She neared him, eyes still glued to the floor. Ashley started up the stairs and Harry, on impulse, touched her arm, and she flinched and looked at him with big brown eyes. The sorrow swam in them.  
  
"Are you okay?" He asked, seeing the saddness in her eyes and hoping for an honest response, but she nodded quickly and hurried away from him before the tears could spill down her cheeks.  
  
Harry clasped his hands with his arms draped over hi knees. She wasn't okay was the only thing he could onclude, and finding out why and helpin Ashley seemed like something burned into his mind and heart that he had to do.  
  
Thoughts ran through his head. When he had touched her arm, she had flinched, in pain perhaps? Was she being abused? By parents? By peers? Or was she just taken by alarm? He suddenly wanted to go after her but knew there was no point.  
  
His headache was more noticeable now and he rubbed his eyes with both of his hands feeling the darkness good for those few seconds. How he wished he could just go home and fall into bed. But it was only lunchtime and he regretfully had one more class in the afternoon. His anger had been calmed by those 15 quiet minutes in the hallway however, and he thought that he could probably last the rest of the school day without swearing at anyone.  
  
If he was lucky. 


	3. Chapter 3

He had made it the rest of the day without swearing at his students. Though his mood hadn't lightened. Was there ever a time when Harry Senate smiled or showed happiness anyway? He couldn't stop thinking of Ashley. Those eyes. Those sad eyes. But he soon stopped himself when he was spacing out in class. He didn't want to seem like a pervert either.  
  
The afternoon had gone by rather quickly and soon the shrieking bell signalled the end of the day. He was heading home for the day when Ronnie stopped him in the hallways, her thin jacket on. She was probably on her way out too.  
  
"Harry, what happened today?" She pressed again. He couldn't understand why people always thought that everything that happened to him seemed to be their business. They would just never quit. It wasn't even a big deal.  
  
"I said nothing," he said geniunely - almost - believing that nothing had happened. Tomorrow was another day. Maybe his students had finally gotten the message. She touched his arm and Harry didn't look at her. About 20 yards behind her, Ashley stood at her locker shoving books into it. He stared past Ronnie at her looking for more 'clues'.  
  
"Harry come on. Nothing is ever 'nothing' with you," she pressed again. He wanted her to go away. So he could catch up to Ashley and try to get her to talk again.  
  
"Harry-"  
  
"I said I don't want to talk about it already!" He snapped at her, his eyes still dark. She seemed shocked for a minute but then took the blunt hint, said a quiet 'Fine' and was on her way.  
  
Holding his briefcase by the hand with his left arm, his jacket clutched in his left he watched her subtley as she finished cramming the books into her locker, and then bent down to take new ones out. She wiped her left cheek with her hand probably brushing an unleashed tear away and looked around the near empty hallways to see if anyone had noticed. Harry had, and she spotted him.  
  
He thought maybe now he would approach her, but she took the opportunity to hastly grab a few books, slam her locker and quickly walk down the hallway to the main doors. She seemed almost scared. Scared to talk. He knew that look on several of his students all too well. Once Ashley was out of sight, he sighed and continued on his own way home. Now was the time to sleep.  
  
Boy did his head throb.  
  
As soon as he awoke he had forgotten his dream. That seemed to always happen. But he knew it didn't involve white sheep prancing through the meadow or anything like that. It was still dark, and he noticed that second. Harry had just passed out on his bed upon arriving home from work and somehow he hoped he would just sleep away the day and night until about 6 A.M. when he would have to wake up to start the day with that lazy class of his. The third thing he noticed and was grateful for, was his headache was gone. He rolled over in his bed to check the alarm clock.  
  
3.52 A.M. Great. Just great. He rolled back onto his back and rubbed his eyes. Could he sleep some more? No, he wasn't tired. He swung the blanket off of his legs and st up, putting his legs over the side of the bed. Oh there it was. The headache was still there, and had come back with an annoying vengence. How his head enjoyed cruelly tricking him.  
  
Harry stood up and shuffled into the washroom, flipping on the lights and then cursing as the light burned his eyes for several minutes. He went to the medicine cabinet, opened it up the door and looked through the pain medication, looking for something that would work fast. He choose three tablets of Advil and popped them into his mouth, downing them with a glass of warm tap water.  
  
Relieving his bladder from the previous 12 hours, Harry made his way out of the washroom and into the living room plopping down on his couch in front of the cheap television.  
  
He was about to turn on the TV but didn't when he couldn't think of one decent show that would be on at 4 in the morning. he ran his hands through his short dark hair, hoping the pain killers would kick in soon. But they didn't and within 20 minutes he was asleep again. 


	4. Chapter 4

"Mornin' Harry," a cheerful Marilyn greeted him as he walked through the teacher's lounge. Harry acknowleged her by a hand gesture. The painkillers and extra sleep had done no good. The headache had grown, not just in his temples now, but behind his eyes and now growing at the back of his head. It almost felt as though his brain was being stabbed by pins continuously.  
  
Before he could get to his class, good 'ol Scott stood in his way, that damn smug look pressed against his taut lips.  
  
"We will not have a repeat of the temper tantrum from yesterday, I hope?"  
  
"Get out of my way, Scott," Harry said with a sigh and tried to walk around him. Scott blocked his way.  
  
"Don't you walk away from me Senate; I have my eye on you," Scott responded. Harry rolled his eyes and walked easily around him. He had successfully not endorsed physical violence on Scott today. Tomorrow would be a whole new challenge.  
  
The morning bell had already rang and Harry made his way down the stairs to 'The Dungeon' where, hopefully, his class would already be. He really didn't feel like taking any crap today, with the headache being the most important factor.  
  
His class was already present, most of them anyway. But noticed that the one person he wanted to be there, wasn't. Ashley's seat was empty. Upon entry to his room, no briefcase this time, the chatter died down and he stood in front of them, arms crossed, not saying anything.  
  
"So who read the book?" He asked again, hoping all of the kids would raise their hands. This time, 4 out about 16 did. J and his Buddy T in the back, however, did not.  
  
"So J, how'd you like the book?" He asked still with his arms crossed. The kid hid a laugh behind his hand, glanced at his buddy and then back at Harry.  
  
"Man, I don't read books. I ain't a chump," He laughed again and so did his buddy.  
  
"Oh.. so, what are you then?" Harry shot back. He walked into the class a bit more and leaned against the front of his desk, arms still crossed.  
  
"What am I? I'm a Nigga, and a looove machine," He laughed again. Harry felt his headache throb up a bit as a bit of the anger he had experienced yesterday started to boil up in him.  
  
"Get out," Harry answered back simply and surprisingly calm. J laughed a little bit and answered back, "Huh?"  
  
"Well you obviously don't want to be here, so get the hell out of my class."  
  
The kid looked around to find everyone staring at him. He smiled, still not taking the demand seriously.  
  
"What are you waiting for? There's the door - or are you too 'cool' to learn what that is?" A couple kids giggled at the shot to J's intelligence. The kid stood up, and picked up a binder he had brought with him, most likely full of nude women doodles or else, just completely blank. He walked over near the door and then pointed his finger at Harry.  
  
"You're gonna get it man. Nobody pushes J around," he threatened but Harry didn't even look the least affected.  
  
"Well I guess I'll be the first then, John," he said his name louder than the rest of the sentence and several kids giggled once more. J's face cringed at the sound of the name he depised and his eyes narrowed.  
  
"Watch it man," he threatened again. Harry stood up straight from his place in front of his desk and stepped in front of the kid.  
  
"What do you want to do? Hit me? Go ahead," Harry held out his arms, inviting a punch to the face. He hated ignorance.  
  
The class seemed to gasp as if they were in a movie theater waiting in suspense, instead of a classroom at Winslow High. J grumbled something under his breath and turned to leave the classroom.  
  
"That's what I thought," Harry mumbled back.  
  
As if something clicked, J dropped his binder and came fast at Harry, his fist connecting directly on Harry's left cheekbone. The classroom gasped again. Harry didn't fall, but stood there bent over, holding his cheek, eyes glaring at the kid. 


	5. Chapter 5

"What the hell were you thinking, Harry? What is wrong with you?" Steven paced his office behind Harry as he sat in a padded chair in front of Steven's desk. It was funny just how he seemed to be in the 'prinipal's office' more now that he was a teacher.  
  
Harry didn't respond. His head was ringing and screamed for more painkillers along with the newly developing bruise on his face. He sort of hoped the kid had shattered a knuckle. Maybe then he would learn something.  
  
"You just don't ask a kid to punch you," Steven said in a calmer voice and walked behind his desk.  
  
"Look.. I don't need a lecture," He finally said, still not looking into Steven's eyes but rather staring straight ahead out a window.  
  
"Obviously you do if you're provoking physical violence in your class," Steven replied and stopped pacing. Harry stared straight ahead with blank eyes suddenly feeling tired again. Steven stared at him waiting for some sort of response, then when he got none, stood behind his desk and leaned down on his hands obstructing Harry's straight ahead view.  
  
"Do you have some sort of problem I should know about?" he asked and within seconds, Harry's eyes diverted to his.  
  
"No," he answered with his stone serious face. Steven paused.  
  
"Then there's no excuse for your behavior. I already warned you yesterday. Do you want to be transfered, is that it?"  
  
"No," Harry answered again.  
  
He could hardly concentrate on what Harper was blabbing on about, but couldn't, and wouldn't, show any weakness. Steven sighed and straightened up.  
  
"I better not see you in here tomorrow," he concluded and Harry took that as the line to leave and he did just that, not saying one word to Harper, or any of his co-workers that happened to 'overhear' what had happened.  
  
He left the office and re-entered the hallway where kids swarmed. It was the lunch hour again, and the noise of rowdy teenagers was enough to drive him insane. But he made sure to keep his stone serious face on as he weaved through the kids.  
  
Harry was unsure why he had been so hostile the last couple of days. It wasn't like him to get angry and frustrated at his kids. He loved what he did - teach, but the fact that none of them cared about their future or - anything, made his headache worse.  
  
Before he could think anymore, he spotted Ashley sitting near a window, as she gazed out of it, her glasses now off. Something was clutched in her hand.  
  
Curious, Harry weaved through the few remaining students and made his way over to where she sat. Noticing he was coming over to her, she frantically tried to shove whatever she was holding into her bag as she tried to stand up quickly to walk away. Harry reached her before she could even get the zippers open.  
  
"Hi Ashley.." he trailed off and looked from her hand to her eyes. She had been crying. He could tell by how red rimmed they were and still filled with so much sorrow. She didn't respond to his greeting but froze in putting her 'mysterious' object in her bag.  
  
"What's in your hand?" he asked casually hoping she would just show him. A sharp pain shot through his head and he fought the urge to rub his forehead.  
  
"Nothing," she said ever so quiet and looked down, probably feeling bad, or scared that she had finally been cornered.  
  
Nothing? Harry had invented the word 'nothing', and he always knew that nothing was always 'something'. But he had not given Ronnie the benfit of the doubt with that one.  
  
"Ashley, show me what's in your hand," he tried again, now with a warmer voice. He was surprised when she showed him, but was even more surprised at what it was.  
  
An exactor knife. She had a knife. Harry didn't know what to say. Instead of going crazy as he knew Scott surely would have, he said quietly, "Can I talk to you in my classroom please?" She nodded slowly, finally shoved the knife into her bag and stood up from her spot on the floor, her head down as if she was ashamed or maybe embarrassed.  
  
They made their way down to The Dungeon and Harry shut the door behind them. Ashley stood a few feet into the class, her bag clutched on her right shoulder. Harry walked in front of her.  
  
"Now you want to tell me why you're carrying that around?" he asked in a calm voice. But he knew already. And she looked on, staring at a place on the floor. Hadn't he just been in the same position only a few minutes ago?  
  
Without saying anything, he took hr left arm that lay limply at her side, and pushed her sweater up - to reveal mostly red cuts, scars, and purple bruises. A small gasp escaped his lips. Her head seemed to drop somemore. But he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to ask her if she did any of that to herself, and once she said no, she would leave.  
  
"Who hits you Ashley?" he asked still looking at the bruises on her arm. Some recent, some faded. She didn't seem to answer for several minutes as she looked on.  
  
"My dad," she finally said, even quieter than the first word she had mumbled aloud. Anger began to boil again, and this time he did rub his forehead with his left hand - not like it helped. So that was it. Her father got a few hits on her for God knows why, and she cut herself.  
  
"He says I'm worthless," she surprised him by speaking once more, her voice more watery then the first 2 words. She still hadn't looked up at him though.  
  
"Ashley.. you need to find help. You have to get out of that environment.." He told her hoping she would be brave enough to speak up to someone else. But to his suspicions, she yanked her arm out of Harry's hold and pulled her sweater back down to her wrists.  
  
"No!" she exclaimed and this time looked at him in the eye. They tried to look angry, but had not succeeded. She was scared. He could sense the fear and isolation with her.  
  
"Ashley, what he does to you is wrong.. what you do to yourself is wrong.. you can get help.." He said sotly, having full intention of being the one who would find her the help.  
  
"You don't understand! Nobody does! I don't want help! I just want to die!" she yelled now, the pain evident in her eyes, and before Harry could say anything in response, she had thrown the door open and was running down the hall, bag still clutched to her shoulder.  
  
"Dammit.." Harry swore to himself, put his left hand at his waist and looked at the floor, his other hand rubbing his aching head. 


	6. Chapter 6

The day had finally ended and Harry finshed marking papers for now. He dropped his pen on the papers, leaned back in his chair and stretched. It was only around 5 P.M. After that he leaned forward and relaxed his head in his folded arms, just for a few minutes.  
  
"Harry?" A voice interuppted his peaceful rest. It was Ronnie at the door. He didn't lift his head.  
  
"Yes," he answered but it came out muffled because of his arms.  
  
"You okay?" she tried again. He took the clue and raised his head from his arms, squinting from the light.  
  
"Just dandy," he responded and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the right corner of his desk. Ronie folded her arms and leaned against one side of the door frame. She smiled.  
  
"I don't even think it's possible for you to be dandy," she answered back to Harry's sarcasm.  
  
"Well I am living proof," he raised his arms a little bit and then they fell on his lap.  
  
"Come on Harry, what happened this morning?" she tried again as if she had got him into some sort of good mood.  
  
"Nothing, I just got lazy kids," he rubbed his eyes deeply hoping the headache would have lifted throughout the day but it hadn't. Advil: Fast relief in under an hour, his ass.  
  
"So you walked out of your class," Ronnie finished arms still crossed. Harry didn't respond. She knew it was true. "And what happened today, to your face.." She already knew, he could tell from just her voice.  
  
"Why don't you go ask your buddy Harper?" Harry asked sarcastically hating to repeat his adventures of experiences. Ronnie's face turned to a scoff.  
  
"He is not my buddy, we are hardly even friends," she said back. Harry nodded at her argument really not caring if they were or not.  
  
"Do you know Ashley Whitmore?" he asked to change the subject. Ronnie thought for a second.  
  
"Long hair, quiet?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Yeah, why?"  
  
"Have you noticed.. anything with her?" he know his wording sounded stupid and vague.  
  
"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she said curiously. Harry leaned his elbows on his desk and ran his hands through his hair. Ronnie walked in a ways, arms still crossed. Harry sighed not planning before to tell her what was up.  
  
"Today I caught her with a knife, but she had no intent on harming others, just herself," he paused. Ronnie leaned again a desk in the front, a more conerned look on her face. "Her father abuses her; she's got bruises all over her arms," he stood up from his desk and paced a little now, now frustrated again.  
  
"Did you call the police? Social Services?" Ronnie asked knowing him, he hadn't.  
  
"No.. She has a tendency to run away and if we got anyone else involved, God knows where she'd end up and what will happen to her.." Harry said looking more at the floor than the blonde.  
  
"But Harry, if she's being physcially abused, and harming herself.. she needs help, something you or I can't give," Ronnie stood up straight her arms now at her sides.  
  
"If we just.." Harry trailed off now not knowing what to say. "Just promise me you won't tell anyone else.. She'll run. I know she will. She's scared," Harry looked at her now. Ronnie hesistated with her answer.  
  
"Just let me talk to her first," Harry nodded and concluded.  
  
"Alright," she responded unsurely. Harry rubbed his forehead and eyes again and sat back down at his desk, elbows up.  
  
"Harry seriously, are you okay?" she asked again. He raised his head to look at her.  
  
"Just tired," he responded half-honestly. The headache throbbed and pounded and it almost made him feel sick.  
  
Ronnie took that and folded her arms again and started for the door.  
  
"Get some rest, okay? I'll see you tomorrow.." And she slowly walked out of the room and down the hall.  
  
Harry after a few minutes of sitting in the silence, looked down at the papers on his desk. He moved aside the top paper and noticed Ashley's name scribbled at the top of the next paper. A poem was written on the lines under her name.  
  
"The beauticious mirage awaits me, a chamber full of gold.. jeering and corrupting me, journey after journey I've told," Harry read aloud. "The fortress I've come to realize, has haulted me in my tracks, time after time I've fought the current, but it always held me back."  
  
"Cascading rocks from a world never told, precise, though I see, the world that crumbles nearby, crumbles with dignity."  
  
"Stop, don't look, you musn't know of the world that awaits the weak. One wrong turn and it might take you in, for it's only acceptence you seek."  
  
"The water that boils over, is splashed upon your soul. Curses escape your lips, and the world starts to pull."  
  
"You have now entered the world of rune, demons and fire at your feet. Calling you in, tugging your shirt, inducing you to the heat."  
  
"I am forever confined within, vulgar and clawing in the pit. Billigerant thoughts of hostility, have conveyed me wrathfully to quit.."  
  
Harry wasn't big on poetry, or knowing what it meant, but the first thought that came to his mind was 'powerful'. Such powerful words. He lifted the poem up to see her assignment stuck under it. She must have accidently handed it to him. The poem also talked to him another way.  
  
She was going to kill herself.  
  
Alarmed at the thoughts he was having, he stood up quickly, dizzy from his head rush and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.  
  
Now it was time to do a house visit. 


	7. Chapter 7

He had managed to peek into Ashley's records without anyone suspecting, or asking him why he was. He had gotten her street address, which surprisingly was on the far, rich side of town. The cool air hit his face as he briskly walked to his car. It stoothed the pounding (which had still gotten worse since the punch) until he reached his blue car. Nothing extravagent, but it got him around; that's all he needed.  
  
Having written her address down on a small piece of paper, he had with him sitting on the passenger seat with his suit jacket, he pulled out of the parking lot and drove off into the dark, October night.  
  
-  
  
Her house was huge. She was stinking rich and he hadn't a clue. The house loomed high, white pillars around the double front doors along with a fancy garden that was now covered in a thin sheet of snow. The house was so big, he was almost looking for a parking lot, but instead cut the engine in front of the house, and made sure that he was at the right place. He was, weird.  
  
Harry got out of the car and looked up at the house suddenly wondering if he had made a mistake. He had imagined some slum apartment with a beer guzzling father, but apparently it was about the opposite.  
  
He rubbed his eyes and approached the front door, knocking loudly. A few minutes later, the door opened to a butler.  
  
"Is Ashley home?" he asked in a low voice. The butler nodded.  
  
"Please come in," he moved aside and Harry stepped into the house. The butler dressed in a black suit walked away and Harry looked around. He felt as though he were in royalty.  
  
"Ahh, Hello there," a female voice said loudly, dressed in an expensive looking business suit as she entered the "living room" he supposed it was, holding some sort of fancy drink in her hand. He already found her annoying. He just wanted to find out everything was okay and leave, back to bed. His headache had to lift sometime.  
  
"I'm looking for Ashley.. I'm her teacher," he clarified and told the woman who was most likely her mother.  
  
"Oh that child. She's probably up in her room reading a book or some other nonsense," the woman scoffed and finished off her drink.  
  
"Ashley you have a guest!" she yelled up the towering stairs and took a seat in a gold colored armchairm as she lit a cigarette. "My that child is so darn slow," she grumbled and puffed furiously on hr cigarette.  
  
Harry walked in a small ways.  
  
"Mrs. Whitmore," he started, but she interuppted him.  
  
"Miss. Call me Rose. Mrs. Whitmore was my mother's name," she said and blew the smoke out of her lungs. If Whitmore was her mother's name, where was Ashley's father?  
  
"Are you mrried?" he asked wanting to know who was beating the young girl.  
  
"No, divorced, but now seeing somebody new. Ashley's father," she furiously smoked again.  
  
Before Harry could say any more, Ashley appeared at the top of the stairway wearing faded jeans and a long sweater.  
  
"What are you doing here.." she rasped in the same quiet voice.  
  
"Ashley.." Harry started.  
  
"Quit being so damned rude. He's cute," 'Rose' smiled devilishly and continued to puff on her cigarette.  
  
"Is Ashley's father around?" Harry asked with a darkened voice and looked up at her.  
  
"No! Get out of here!" Ashley almost yelled from the stairway and then she turned and bolted up the stairs.  
  
"What is wrong with that child. Sometimes I don't even believe she's mine," Rose said in a stern voice and then yelled "Harold!"  
  
A minute later a man walked in wearing black slacks and a pale shirt. His dark hair was receeding at the front and the rest was turning grey.  
  
"For Chrisssakes, you needn't yell at me," he said angrily and then looked at Harry.  
  
"Don't tell me you're attempting to take my daughter on a date," he then added in a dry voice.  
  
"I'm Ashley's teacher," Harry responded bitterly now staring into the eyes of the man who abused his child.  
  
"Well.. what the hell do you want, did that little brat dail another test?" he grumbled and crossed his arms.  
  
-  
  
He didn't get into a fist fight with that jerk but he had wanted to. He planned on calling the cops on the sick bastard, but would wait until morning.  
  
In all the 'excitement' his headache had chugged along right through it religiously. He hadn't been able to ignore it. Not at even one moment.  
  
Harry arrived back to his shit apartment and felt almost like a homeless man compared to the palace he had just been in. Oh well, that was the price he had paid deciding whether to go into teaching or law. He let himself in his dark apartment, locked it behind him and took off his jacket. He tossed his keys on a table and immediately walked to the washroom to take more pills. 48 hours for a headache was long enough.  
  
Instead of just taking three advil, he took six along with 4 longer ones that looked like tylenol, but weren't. He washed the 10 pills down with another glass of luke warm tap water hoping that hadn't been too many.  
  
Food. He should probably eat;he hadn't all day - but strangely he didn't feel the least bit hungry, and hadn't remembered feeling hungry at all that day.  
  
Not doing anything else, he kicked off his dress shoes, took off his striped tie, loosened the collar of his shirt around his neck and laid down on his bed almost immediately dozing off or passing out - one of the other. He made up his mind then that if he awoke with the same headache, he would seriously go insane. 


	8. Chapter 8

*Wish I was too dead to care  
  
If indeed I cared at all  
  
Never had a voice to protest  
  
So you fed me shit to digest..*  
  
The headache. The HEADACHE.. was still there. Harry felt like pulling out his hair. This time, unlike the day before when he had felt the farmiliar pounding as he rolled over and sat up, he felt it's wrath even before his eyes had opened. It was as if the headache had been asleep with him and had been awoken by the shrieking of the alarm clock, and was then terribly angry.  
  
"Son of a.." he mumbled in a sleepy voice and sat up. It was time to wake up for his Thursday of classes but how he just wanted to fall back down on his pillow. Even though he had slept for a solid 11-12 hours, he was somehow still dead tired. Along with the headache, he almost felt really dizzy. What a nice combination. Now he was liable to pass out at school by three things.  
  
Marvelous.  
  
He made sure the alarm clock would not start up again in 9 minutes and made his morning ritual to the washroom to take yet more pills. He couldn't even remember a time when he had a headache this painful and annoying for three straight days.  
  
The light went on again and this time the light did not just burn his eyes, it fried his brain as well. Slightly longer it took for him to be able to handle the light, and he popped almost what seemed like a full handful of pills. He looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked like shit. There was no other word to describe how horrible his face looked. The bruise on his cheek had darkened and now left a noticeable reddish-purple mark there under his tired, quite pathetic looking eyes. Looking into them just depressed him. He turned away from the mirror and went to start the shower. He was hoping that the October morning would be one of the mornings that he would get the hot water.  
  
-  
  
Harry walked into the faculty office and went straight to the lounge for a cup of coffee to wake him up a little more before the morning bell (that was due to ring at any minute) could summon him to his classroom. He stalked right up to the coffee maker to (of course) find maybe if he was lucky, a 1/3 of a cup, and probably old and cold but then. He wasn't going to make a big deal about it though. If he had been smart and really wanted that coffee, he would have stopped somewhere to get it, because he knew that everyday he went for a cup and everyday the pot was empty. You think he would have learned by now.  
  
Before he could really do anything, Ronnie had magically appeared at his side.  
  
"Hi Ronnie, what brings you to the empty coffee pot.." he asked sarcastically noticing the cup in her hand. She looked down at it and put it beside the maker.  
  
"Harry I have to tell you something.." she said quietly.  
  
"What, that there's no coffee left? I think if I would have sat here for another good 15 minutes, I think maybe - just maybe - I could have figured that out myself," he said dryly and poured the little bit that was left in a white coffee mug, just as if to make a statement.  
  
"Harry, listen to me-" she put her hand on her hip trying not to be frustrated with him.  
  
"Listen to you glug down that last cup of coffee? Mmm Mmm the best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup-" Harry really didn't give a fuck about the coffee. Really.  
  
"Shut up and listen to me. Ashley's dead," Ronnie spat out probably not caring whether she sounded sensitive or not anymore.  
  
Harry stopped in mid-sentence in shock. He looked down at the sucked dry coffee pot, his brow narrowed.  
  
"She committed suicide last night.. Oh Harry, I'm so sorry.." Ronnie touched his arm. Harry was still absorbing the word 'dead'.  
  
"Why should you be sorry? It's not like you drove her to that point or anything.." he looked at her and said as casually as he could. A knife stabbed through his heart on the inside.  
  
"Hary! You did not make or help in any way with her suicide," Ronnie sharply said and held onto his arm.  
  
"Fine," he said with a srious face, took his arm out of her grasp and walkd out of the lounge and office leaving the half full cup of coffee there next to the pot.  
  
-  
  
Dead. She was dead. The thoughts bounced off the sides of his head and they kept repeating like a broken record would. DeadDeadDeadDea- You killed her. A new sentence was added to the mix. He walked down to his classroom, but he was blind to everything. The people around him, the busy children's voices. It was all gone. He walked in silence. But by all means, he was not alone - his headache kept him plenty of company. And it proved no signs of leaving anytime soon. Pound, Pound, Pound. Feel that blood pulse through your veins. With each pound, Dead, Dead, Dead.  
  
He reached the classroom and found the seats occupied already as he knew they would be. The bell had rung on his walk down. He was sure of it.  
  
It hit him hard as he entered the classroom as Ashley's empty seat slammed more nails into his chest. A mix of pain and guilt.  
  
Casual chatter continued throughout his students and it died down when he entered and sat down at his desk. He said nothing. He thought nothing.  
  
Stab Stab Stab.  
  
The class sat silent, watching him and sometimes looking at one another for an explanation to explain his silence and blank stare.  
  
"Ashley Whitmore is dead," he said quietly, not moving his blank robot eyes off the legs of a desk he was unintentionally staring at. Staring *through* rather.  
  
"Who?" he heard someone say in the silence very quietly as if not to be heard and Harry's eyes snapped up to his students at the word. He wasn't going to freak out. He had decided that already. But boy did he feel like it. Who.. He smirked to himself angrily. Who.  
  
"She killed herself last night," he spoke once more, not changing his tone from the robot voice. His class didn't look directly at him and some squirmed uncomfortably in their seats now knowing what to say or if they should have said anything at all.  
  
He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. To scream that it was THEIR fault. If they would have gave her the time of day or..-But the fact was, it wasn't their fault. They were just kids. It was his fault. He was the adult. It was his damn fault and nobody could convince him otherwise. The class sat silent for several minutes, hopefully reflecting and re- evaluating their behavior, but it was doubtful. Knowing them, they would be thinking of the next time they could light up a cigarette or whose party they were going to on Saturday, Britney's or Sarah's.  
  
Suddenly something boiled deep inside of him. Anger, terrible anger. Rage, in fact. Still staring blankly, he stood up and simply walked out of his classroom leaving his students to question what to do then, and wonder if at that time they could ditch and go smoke a doobie behind the school. He walked up the stairs and managed to walk right out of the school without Harper or Guber to nitice. If he had been confronted then, he would have surely taken his rage out on them and not the person he wanted to. Ashley's father, Harold.  
  
Stab, Stab, Stab. 


	9. Chapter 9

The streets were silent as Harry pulled his car around to the same area he had parked just the night before. He left the keys in the ignition not caring too much about his piece of junk car, then, just concentrating on one thing. Okay, two things. The headache made him feel like the only way to relieve the pounding was to blow his own head off.  
  
Ignoring the fancy 500 dollar knocker on the large door, he walked right in, to find just who he was looking for sitting right there. Harold on the couch, a beer in front of him, and Rose in the gold armchair another martini in her drunken grasp, a half smoked cigarette between her fingers.  
  
The rage let itself free and he ran at the man in the black slacks who looked in great surprise at the man who had just decided to waltz into his home and was now leaping at him, fire in his eyes.  
  
"What-" Rose got out and dropped her cigarette on the precious carpet by surprise.  
  
"You son of a bitch," Harry grumbled and got in a good punch to the dark haired man. His knuckles stung. But that was a good sign. The pain was satisfaction. Harold groaned and Harry gave him another one right to the nose, exploding blood onto his hand and Harold's face. he stopped then and stood back, as he rubbed his hand without realizing it.  
  
"Call the police, Rose," Harold told his 'girlfriend' quietly and looked back to Harry. Rose took the opportunity to run from the room to a phone, her heels clacking on the floor.  
  
"Now just what is this all about!" Harold demanded and touched his messed up nose, looking at the blood on his fingers. "How DARE you just-"  
  
"No, you DARE you smack your daughter around like that. Did you know she was going to go and kill herself? Did you?" Harry demanded angrily.  
  
"Well no-"  
  
"Did you know she cut her arms too? Cut up those welts you gave her?"  
  
Harold took this opportunity for his own to get angry and he stood up ignoring his nose for a moment.  
  
"You knew she was cutting her arms and you didn't say anything?" He yelled back, turning it all back on Harry.  
  
"Like you didn't see them when you whipped out the belt, or did all those bruises you gave her, cover them up pretty good? Huh?"  
  
"How dare you come into MY home and accuse me of such things-" Harold took the defensive side.  
  
"Oh cut the bullshit; she told me herself!" Harry lashed back.  
  
"Well she's not here to say anything anymore, is she?" he said back as if he were happy that she was gone. Harry's eyes opened wider. Oh he was happy all right. He could have very well killed her himself.  
  
"You sick bastard.." Harry said under his breath and gave him another punch to his nose, exploding more blood onto his face. Harold this time fought back and punched him in the same exact place that J had. New pain stung on Harry's face and his head rang. He almost thought he would pass out from the pain. For being a small man, Harold had a pretty good arm.  
  
-  
  
He didn't hear the sirens. He didn't hear the police burst through the door shouting nonsense with their guns nor did to hear when they read him his rights and and locked him up in the handcuffs. Perhaps it was from the rage that hadn't been totally dumped on Harold or maybe it was the migraine grinding his head everytime he moved his eyes he wanted to vomit. He didn't need anybody to kill him, not Harold, not the fancy cops in their little fancy belts, with their pansy guns.. No, Harry was already dead, and he didn't want to be revived. 


	10. Chapter 10

*I wish I had a reason  
  
My flaws are open season  
  
For this I gave up trying  
  
One good turn deserves my dying..*  
  
The jail cell gave him goosebumps. He had been in one before, a couple times and usually for the same reason. Sometimes he deserved it, but this time he believed he didn't. He hoped that bastard's nose was busted. Broken and it would heal disfigured. Oh how it would already enhance his grotesque face.  
  
That Thursday afternoon stuck behind bars, Harry shared his cell with two others. One sat on the far bench obviously drunk out of his tree, head against the stone wall, a pile of barf near his feet. The guy was easily pushing 300 pounds and had lookd like he had passed out leaning back like that legs upon, hands limp at his hands. One flinch and he would probably fall over and into his lovely pile of barf. How nice.  
  
The other was also obviously a prostitute. Wearing some sort of fur coat, and red spike heels, she sat at the side wall on a bench, indifferent and picking at her red fake nails as if the cell was her second home, knowing one of her horny clients would shovel out the cash jail to get a fuck out of it.  
  
Just disgusting. Utterly disgusting the world he lived in. Drunks, postitues and child abusers, everywhere he turned.  
  
The hours that had passed, he had not moved a muscle fearing he would also be lying in a pile of his own barf if his body and headache had decided to play games and be cruel to him. So far so good. If the pounding throughout his brain could have been considered 'good' in any light.  
  
Upon getting arrested, he had had no choice but to call the school and 'embarrassly' confess that he was locked up with a ball n' chair at the Big House. He knew what a gosspier that secretary was. The whole damn town probably knew where he was, and what he ate for breakfast too, at that. After making the secretary get off the line, Harper had pounced on, angry but concerned at the same time. It had taken a while for him to convince Steven just to send somebody down to bail him out, saying he would of course write them a stinking check as soon as the book was in front of him.  
  
The voice of that someone had arrived to the pig station then, and Harry groaned. Ronnie. He had sent Ronnie to bail his sorry ass out. Of course, she was the 'lawyer' after all. Harry put his elbows on his knees and relaxed his exploding head into his hands, his fingers weaving through the front of his hair that now needed some sort of haircut. He had stayed like that and even a bit after the fat blonde guard had come to the bars, yelled, "Senate!" as he rolled open the animal cage.  
  
Ronnie stood timidly behind him, and Harry raised his face and squinted to because of the neon lights that hung down from the ceiling. The expression on her face was hard to read. It was either disappointment or just plain horror.  
  
"Okay, get your ass out. You're free. See you next week, Senate," the guard heartily laughed and Harry glared at him.  
  
That bastard still worked there. It was only a matter of minutes before the fatass dropped dead from clogged arteries because of the chili dogs he scarfed down - but obviously it had been years since Harry had thought that. His heart was still ticking. God damn.  
  
Harry slowly stood up using his hands to push on his knees not wanting to trigger anything unpleasant and walked out of the cage as the guard yelled for the drunk to wake up probably just noticing his insides splattered on the floor.  
  
"Thanks," Harry mumbled, knowing he owed her that at least. Steven or Scott rather, probably would have opted to keep him in there for a couple days.  
  
"Don't thank me Harry. What has gotten into you? Beating up some guy?" Ronnie started to quack. Good 'ol farmiliar Ronnie. For once he was actually happy to hear that voice.  
  
However he didn't respond. He was almost afraid that if he went on how if he had gone back to would have done it all again, but with brass knuckles, that she would have shoved him back into the cell, hiding the key in one of the guard's chili dogs. Then he would surely be doomed.  
  
They started to walk out of the police station and Harry wondered how long he had been in there. Minutes? Hours? Or maybe what it felt like, weeks?  
  
"You are damn lucky Harold Delaney isn't going to press charges.." she continued as they exited the building. He wasn't going to press charges? A miracle. But he of course knew why. The bastard had beat his daughter to a pulp and Harry knew all about it. It didn't take a genius to figure that out, and he wasn't a genius by all means.  
  
The artificial sunlight had been easier on his eyes then the real sunlight. He was surprised to find that the sun was still there which meant he hadn't been in the slammer too long. It was cold though, colder than he had remembered upon his fuming excavation to Harold's house. Who cared. Wow, his arms were cold. Ashley was dead. Who gave a fuck about his cold arms.  
  
Ronnie did, and she linked his arm with hers as they walked down the stairs as if she was leading a zombie. He felt like a zombie. DeadDeadDead.  
  
Surprisingly, they reached Ronnie's awaiting car without her saying a word. They both got in and she rubbed her hands together and started the engine. Then paused before backing out of the parking space.  
  
"Harry, talk to me already," she said and looked at him. He looked straight ahead, staring at the dashboard of the Saturn, arms dead on his lap. She looked at him a moment later and then pulled out of the space without another word as if a blink from him assured her that he was indeed not a zombie, just close to one. 


	11. Chapter 11

*Wish I'd died instead of lived  
  
A zombie hides my face..*  
  
She took him back to his own place. He really didn't care where he was as long as he could sleep. Sleep forever. Even the jail cell would have been enough for him.  
  
The two reached his apartment and Harry took his keys out of his jacket pocket and he fumbled them as he tried to fit the right key into the lock. His vision was seeing double and his eyes hurt just to look at the shiny metal. Without word, Ronnie released the keys from his loose hands and unlocked the door for him.  
  
Still silence as he walked into his farmiliar home, but was just a little surprised when Ronnie followed him.  
  
"Sit," she ordered and pointed to a chair that sat behind his kicthen table. He obeyed and sat down, not bothering to take off his jacket that he was still wearing. Ronnie took off her own jacket and slung it over a chair as she entered his kitchen in search of some food.  
  
"I'm going to make you something to eat. You look like you haven't eaten in days," she said and started going through the fridge and cupboards.  
  
Harry sat, still staring off, now at a far wall, arms loose on his lap.  
  
"Don't bother," he let escape his lips, still staring. Ronnie slowly turned around as if he hadn't spoken in years and she walked near him looking down at him.  
  
"Why not?" she said softly sort of happy that he was speaking to her again. But the conversation of Harry's part died there, and he was silent again.  
  
Noticing he wasn't about to answer anytime soon, Ronnie forgot about the food for a minute and sat down in one of the chairs, facing Harry. He still did not look at her.  
  
"Harry it wasn't your fault, you have to believe that," she said quietly and took his hand in hers. Harry flinched and pulled it away not looking into her concerned eyes.  
  
"Just leave me alone," he answered her, now seeing weird colors dancing around on the wall he was staring at.  
  
"Harry - please-"  
  
"Just go, okay?!" He looked at her then, eyes full of fire, and he could see the chocked and hurt expression in her eyes. She paused and then stood up, taking her coat in her arms. Harry resumed his stare at the wall.  
  
"Fine," she said, lips pursed, obviously insulted from his outburst, and she walked to the door and opened it. But then turned around to speak once more.  
  
"I thought I knew you Harry Senate, but I guess I don't know you as well as I thought. I didn't know you were so dead inside." She waited a number of seconds for maybe a response or for him to even look at her, but neither happened and she took that and left his apartment.  
  
Harry continued to stare at the wall, aware of everything that had just happened. Half of him had wanted her to stay with him, and the other half just wanted to go dig a whole and die in it.  
  
Finally after several minutes of sitting alone in her kitchen, just his headache and his ticking clock to keep him company, Harry wiped a tear from his eye and stood up. Fuck taking the pills.  
  
He was dead on the inside, he might as well be dead on the outside too. 


	12. Chapter 12

*Shell forgotten  
  
with its memories  
  
Diaries left with cryptic entires..*  
  
He walked into the administration office Friday morning which provoked surprise amongst his co-workers as Ronnie probably had spread the word on his 'condition'.  
  
The office was almost silent as he walked into the teacher's lounge, today not wearing a jacket or a tie. he walked up to the coffee pot to find it half full. A miracle truly. He poured himself a cup and looked to his right to find someone staring at him from the doorway.  
  
It was Agnes, one of the overweight secretaries who didn't have a life of her own so she had to poke into everyone elses.  
  
"Watching something?" Harry snapped in an irritated voice as he finished pouring his coffee. Agnes was alarmed that he had spoken to her, and scurried back to her nice little 'secretary area'.  
  
Harry took a sup of the coffee in his hand and almost spit it out. No wonder there was half a pot left. It was probably 50 times too strong.  
  
He put the cup down near the pot and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When Ronnie walked in, coat on, a bag over her shoulder.  
  
She stopped near the doorway watching him.  
  
"What are you doing here, Harry-" she began.  
  
"What. I work here," Harry replied in that same semi-sarcastic voie. She walked in a bit more.  
  
"Harry you really shouild be resting; you look horrible.."  
  
"Well I know I have no prize-winning face or anything but-"  
  
"Harry!" Ronnie exclaimed, trying to make him listen to her.  
  
"What!" he exclaimed in response to her raise of voice. He threw his hands out and his left one hit the coffee mug he had put there, and the half cup of coffee tipped and spilled all of its contents all over the counter, soaking the paper napkins to a mocha color, destroying a few mini-sugar packs that sat near the bowl of individual creams.  
  
Harry, however, didn't even notice what he had accidently done.  
  
"Time to go do my life's work.." Harry mumbled and started to leave to go to his classroom. Ronnie didn't object. She just didn't know what to say anymore.  
  
As Harry was about to leave the lounge, Steven poked his head in.  
  
"Harry, can I see you for a moment, please," he asked, yet it didn't sound like a question. Harry, indifferent, left the teacher's lounge and followed Steven into his office. He took a seat in the chair in front of Steven's desk, that he knew all too well. Steven took a seat at his own desk and touched his fingertips together as if thinking of what to say.  
  
"Harry-" he started, but was interuppted.  
  
"Look, if all you're going to do is preach - I know. Okay? I already know."  
  
But Steven continued on as if he hadn't even heard him.  
  
"Do you need any help, Harry?" he asked vaguely, now unsure of his question.  
  
"Why would I need help?" was Harry's reponse question. Steven paused as if he really wanted to say 'You're hella crazy'. But he didn't.  
  
"I don't know.. Do you think everything you're doing is all right?" Good 'ol Steven. The trick question. Harry didn't respond.  
  
"We're just worried about you, that's all," Steven told him in the same quiet voice - a side of Steven he hadn't seen in a long while.  
  
"Well don't bother, okay?" Harry pushed his chair back and stood up. Steven stood up with him.  
  
"Harry-"  
  
He started on his way out, feeling anger again and not exactly knowing why. He still had the headache, but he had gotten used to it by now (somewhat).  
  
Steven sighed from his office. He would give him one more day. One more day he could prove himself in a classroom. 


	13. Chapter 13

*You don't need to bother  
  
I don't need to be..*  
  
It was all just a joke really. Life. How there are almost only two real events in anyones life: their birth and their death. Everything in between is just chicken shit. Why didn't the big all mighty God on his throne throw Harry a bone sometimes? Why did he seem to enjoy throwing knives instead? Harry decided that if God were right in front him at that moment he would probably not hesitate once at gutting him with a dull pencil that was always found somewhere on his desk.  
  
He wasn't really a bad guy. Lauren didn't think so when she was sucking face with him back then. And then there was Ronnie. Why did Ronnie give a fuck? He could never understand that.  
  
Harper was worried. He could see it wirtten all over his face, almost in permanent black marker. But why was everyone so worried? So what, he had a headache, a migraine even. People get them. Harper had probably gotten a few in his day. What else? His class was filled with brainless morons. That was no doubt any less than true.  
  
Harry ducked into one of the student washrooms outside of the administration office and found it empty. Everyone was in classes now, including his class. Oh well, it would only take a minute.  
  
He stepped in front of the tall mirrors, and didn't react to his zombie- like appearance looking back at him, He had seen himself that morining. It wasn't a big surprise.  
  
Digging into his black pants pocket, he pulled out a small canister of pills. Not just any pills, though. 'Magic' pills. The magical pills that could cure anything from a runny nose to a strange fungus on your back.  
  
The pills had been leftover from his stabbing, and he had forgotten how many he was to take to get the 'magic' to work. Harry decided on six, knowing that would do, and dry swallowed them one by one, followed by a small drink of the water straight from the tap.  
  
There. He felt better already. He closed the canister of pills and stuffed them back into his pants pocket, making his way to his awaiting classroom.  
  
-  
  
"Turn to chapter six which is.." Harry leaned over and picked up a book off his desk, then flipped through the pages. "Page 282," he added and his class leafed towards the right page. So far so good. Boy did Harry want to keep his job. He knew he'd have to smarten up and prove himself.  
  
"Hey, that guy's constipated!" a male voice exclaimed from the back and the whole class erupted in laughter as they leaned over their own books. Harry looked down at his book. Okay, so the guy holding the American flag did look constipated, but he decided not to acknowledge the joke, but kept on saying what he was going to say.  
  
Just when he was about to speak, a pain like a lightning bolt struck the side of his head and Harry grimaced, not wanting to show any sort of pain to his students. The pain was different this time. More sharp. Not the usual pain that gnawed and never loosened. This pain was just as he had described it - a lightning bolt to the skull.  
  
"Read the chapter and answer the questions," he told the class before dropped his hard text on the floor, making a few people jump, before exiting to the hallway otuside his classroom.  
  
Harry bent over, hands on his knees, eyes squeezed shut. Another lightning bolt. It felt as though his head would either explode all over the place, or slowly bleed out until he had no head at all.  
  
"Quit it!" he suddenly yelled and grabbed his head. He knew there would have been a point when he wouldn't be able to take it anymore.  
  
Suddenly the pain lifted and an easy fog brushed past his head. Slight dizziness and then an oh so tired feeling. He crumpled to his knees and then fell over, and passed out.  
  
Shock echoed down the hallways and a student that never had anything against Mr. Senate, darted out of the classroom and she knelt by him, one hand on his back.  
  
"Help!!" she screamed down the hallways, "It's Mr. Senate!" she yelled once more and checked his pulse.  
  
"He's dead!" she began to weep over his fallen body, as she said to Harry's other students who were all gathered around the classroom door, their mouths now hanging open in almost disbelief. An older teacher poked her head down the hallway and saw what was going on, and she went to get help.  
  
The canister of pills suddenly rolled from Harry's pocket and it rolled for a bit and then stopped, just like Harry's headache.  
  
'Magic' pills, alright. 


	14. Chapter 14

[Author's Note: Thanks for reading my story guys. Much more on the way =)]  
  
*But once I hold on  
  
I won't let go still it bleeds..*  
  
The fog was still there. It had never left him, but he didn't want it to leave. It was too comforting, like a big puffy blanket protecting him. Protecting him from the lightning bolts.  
  
Through the fog he spotted two moving figures. One of them was dressed all in white from what he could see male, and the other one had long blonde hair and he guessed was a female. The two talked in conversation and Harry lost interest and his eyes wandered around. His head then fell to the left side, stuck there was if he were on the 'Gravitron' ride at the fair again.  
  
He was in a bed. Not only was the fog a puffy blanket, he could feel a blanket over his legs as well.  
  
A white room; such a clean room. This didn't look like his apartment. It was much too white for that.  
  
His memory along with his sight was foggy. Why was he in this white room with the white man and the blonde woman? Had he died? Was he in Heaven? ( '..gutting him with a dull pencil..' ) Oh that was right. He didn't believe in any of that stuff anymore. But why?  
  
He couldn't remember. Harry put his head straight again staring at the superwhite ceiling. It would come to him. It always did.  
  
Someone blocked his view. It was the man all in white. Harry shifted his eyes upwards but was unable to focus on the man's face.  
  
"Mr. Senate, do you know where you are," a faraway robot voice sounded.  
  
Harry tried to lift his arms but surprisingly found that he could not. Why weren't his arms raising? Were they broken? In 200 pound casts? Or God forbid - non existent?  
  
He tried to lift them again in a slight panic. Restraints. He could feel the tight leather buckles gripping at his wrists.  
  
His desperate eyes looked back at the white man as he still tried to focus on his face.  
  
"We had to sedate and restrain you Mr. Senate; you were quite violent," the white man answered his pleading, questionable eyes.  
  
Harry looked over to the right of him. It was Ronnie. He didn't need to focus her face; her outline had told him. One of her hands was resting on his right forearm. It was cold.  
  
"Harry, are you okay? How do you feel?" she asked softly, and then was unsure if he had even heard her from the still confused look on his face. When he didn't respond, the man in white did.  
  
"He's somewhere far away. Come, he must rest," the white man took Ronnie by the shoulder and escorted the doubtful blonde out of the room.  
  
Where was he? A hospital? He had concluded that. But what kind of hospital was he in? Why was his vision so foggy like there was a thin, cloudy film over his eyes?  
  
He had been sedated. He had been violent? When? It was coming back to him slowly. His last memory being in his classroom teaching his students, with his arch enemy. The only enemy that he couldn't punch or even stab, or shoot.. The internal pain. The headache that laughed at him with each throb. He remembered the magic pills he had swallowed..-  
  
-He suddenly searched for his headache, concentrating and looking for pain. Nothing. It was gone. The bitch was actually gone.  
  
"The bitch is gone," Harry said aloud but it only sounded as a strange whisper. He went to raise his arms, but they were caught by the buckles that held his wrists down to the bed.  
  
It angered Harry. Being restrained. He was obviously okay now, why not at least loosen the grip?  
  
After a few seconds he noticed that not only his wrists were buckles down, but his ankles too. Ronnie had let them to this.  
  
"Ronnie," he then called. The room's door was open, but he wasn't sure how far away she was then. "Ronnie!" he significantly raised his voice, now feeling the power back in his vocal cords.  
  
A figure entered his room. It wasn't Ronnie, but the strange man in white. His vision was clearing up and he could now make out even the small birthmark on the man's lower forehead.  
  
"Who are you? Where am I? What happened? Where's Ronnie?" Harry tried to sit up and his arms tensed again. jangling the restraints connected to the bars alongside the bed. The man did not even seem to hear the man in the bed before him as he pulled a syringe out of his white jacket. He tested and tapped the needle and then slowly rolled up Harry's gown sleeve.  
  
"Somebody is acting..violent.. again.." the man said. Harry struggled again and looked at his left arm in horror ad the man stabbed the needle directly into his bicep.  
  
Pain radiated up and down his arm and he didn't know whether it was because of what he had been injected with, or the fact that he had tensed up his arm. But he had no time to contemplate it either. The fog had come back, and thicker this time.  
  
"Night, night, Harry," the man's voice said through the fog and Harry drifted off into an un-satisfactory, nightmare filled slumber. 


	15. Chapter 15

The blonde was back. This time her blurred image showed she had changed clothes. The man in white that had needled him earlier was gone, and that relieved him. How long had it been since he had been stuck? It only felt like 10 minutes.  
  
Harry was dead tired but didn't let the sleep take him just yet. He needed some answers.  
  
"R..Ronnie," he said and found out his mouth was drier than cotton balls. The cold hand grasped his forearm again, and squeezed.  
  
Harry let his eyes wander and he felt somewhat dizzy. What had they stuck him with, he wondered.  
  
"Where am I?" he looked back to her on his right and struggled to focus his eyes on her face. After about a minute of trying, his eyes focused and the fog lifted.  
  
"Harry.." she seemed hesitant. "This is for the best," she finished off with, a serious look to her face. Harry was puzzeled again. He tried to move his arms hoping the restraints had been taken off or that it was all a dream. It wasn't, and his wrists were still glued down at his sides.  
  
"What's for the best? What happened?" he moved his arms again and they caught on the buckles once more. Ronnie noticed his struggle and her eyes looked down and then back up as if she were sad.  
  
"You just have to trust me-" she began the nonsense that danced around his questions again.  
  
"What is this, where are we?!" he pleaded now, darker than before, growing impatient.  
  
"You're at a hospital," she answered his question directly. Harry settled back. A hospital. Why didn't she say 'the' hospital? Only someone who wasn't at a normal hospital, would be at 'a' hospital. Which hospital was he at?  
  
He looked around trying to maybe gain a clue to where he was. Nothing. Just looked like a regular white room. He went to ask her more questions when a short woman entered the room in a nurse's outfit, hands linked in front of her.  
  
"I'm sorry ma'am, but visiting hours are over. The little soldier needs his rest," the nurse grinned at Harry. Since when was he a 'little soldier'? Where was he, the twilight zone?  
  
Ronnie accepted the kick in the ass to get out and stood up from her chair, hand still on his arm, which had warmed up a bit.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said softly then bent over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Tomorrow? How long was he supposed to be there for?  
  
She then regretfully left the room with the short nurse and he was once again all alone.  
  
-  
  
Wide awake now, Harry strained his neck and lifted up his head to look out the door that had been accidently left open. Everything was white - and he had a sudden though, which was more of a fear.  
  
Was he in heaven? Heaven was supposed to be white, right? Was he dead? Maybe those 'magic' pills had given him too much magic.  
  
A scream alerted him. Echoing down the hallways directly into his room, it would have been a miracle for no one to have heard it.  
  
"-hold her down-"  
  
"-for the love of-"  
  
"-where's Dr. Shu-"  
  
"-shut her up alre-"  
  
Voices interuppted voices and another yell came and soon the female who sounded as if she was being attacked by ravenous wolves was quieted. How, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.  
  
Harry lifted his head and listened. Muffled voices he couldn't make out still remained, when the birthmark doctor strolled into his room in his fancy white jacket.  
  
"Feeling better I see, hm?" His brow narrowed as if that was a terrible thing. Harry eyed the doctor accusingly. He really was in the twilight zone.  
  
"Who was that," he answered back, ignoring Birthmark's question.  
  
The doctor paused and then answered darkly,"she was - violent."  
  
Harry eyed the doctor more closely now, looking at what was in his hand. A needle, gripped between his fingers. He fiddled with it hungrily, staring at Harry.  
  
"You weren't violent either.. were you Harry?"  
  
What a sick, sick man. He didn't respond.  
  
The doctor played with his needle.  
  
"You know your little girlfriend? The blonde? Well she was 'violent' too. She's in the next room. Nice tits on her. I snuck a little peek, or rather my hands did," the doctor chuckled at his own sick joke. Harry became outraged and he jerked at the restraints.  
  
"You fucking BASTARD-"  
  
"Oh my. You're getting violent again. Golly, I think I fear for my life," the doctor said simply, shrugged and raised the needle.  
  
"Get away from me you sick sonofabitch-" Harry spat back. The doctor took no notice, and was not threatened as he raised Harry's gown sleeve, smiling sickly as he stabbed the needle into his bicep again.  
  
And once more, the fog came and Harry could not do anything.  
  
  
  
[Note: I just want to say thanks to all of you who read and like my story. Thanks for all the reviews =) ] 


	16. Chapter 16

Hours had passed. Maybe even days. Who knew. All he knew now was that he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon because of the damned restraints and a new blurry person had entered the room.  
  
"Mr. Senate," it was a female. He tried to make out the face. Ashley. That's who it was. He tried to form the word to make her name but the needle made it incredibly hard to focus on anything. Wait - hadn't she died? Hadn't she killed herself?  
  
She walked up on his left side and leaned over his bed, hair hanging down.  
  
"Ashley.. what are you.. what are you doing here?" he finally got out, and then blinked to focus his eyes. They began to clear up with his will.  
  
"You killed me Mr. Senate," she said in a robot, yet accusing voice. Harry was confused.  
  
"Ashley-" he started to question. Nothing made sense at ALL.  
  
"If you would have just left me alone. You just had to confront my father didn't you. You made him kill me. You," she accused. His eyes improved and he saw the anger and hurt in her eyes. She couldn't be real. It was all from what he had been stuck with. Right?  
  
"I'm sorry I was just trying to help-" Harry defended himself. To whom, a ghost?  
  
"Who? Who were you trying to help? Me, or you? You needed something to fill that void in your life," Ashley dictated as if she were his therapist or something.  
  
"I do not have a void in my life,"  
  
"You killed me Mr. Senate. Face it," and she was gone. Just like that.  
  
Harry was confused. The twilight zone song played in his head. In the last day, hour, or even year, he had been stuck with poisionour needles and visited by a dead student.  
  
He prepared himself for a strait jacket.  
  
-  
  
He must have drifted off because he awake, - in a hallway. A hallway that he had remembered. He was at Winslow High, in the hallway near his classroom. Confusion ran around in his brain pulling out wires and laughing. Harry now guessed the whole white room and brithmark doctor experience had been some sort of wack dream. But it had seemed so goddamn real. Just the detail he could recall on the brown restraints at his wrists.  
  
"Harry - Harry!" Ronnie basically screamed in his ear. He was somehow sitting up now, back against the lockers that lined the hallway on both sides. He looked around him. His class stood near the doorway to his class, stunned and whispering to eachother. On the other side, other faculty members along with a buch of other students watched him. Lipshitz was muttering something. Oh that bitter, bitter man.  
  
Ronnie of course was at her knees on his left side.  
  
"You look nice today Ronnie. Did you do something different with your hair?" Harry smiled at her, grateful that he was still alive and free from the haunted shite hospital in his mind.  
  
Ronnie looked at him as if he was the most insane person in the world, judging by his last comment at that particular time.  
  
"Ronnie, the ambulence is here," a flushed Steven Harper walked to to the little circle and told her. Harry looked up at Harper who looked geniunely concerned.  
  
"Ambulence?" he questioned. There was no way he wa going to be locked away in a 'real' white room now. "I am not going to some hospitial."  
  
"Harry-" Ronnie started to protest. Harry held up his hand to make her be quiet and slowly got up from his place on the floor using help from the lockers behind him. Magnificiently, his headache had indeed vanished.  
  
"I feel great," he looked at everyone still staring at him. "What are you guys staring at? Did I mess myself or something?" he slightly smiled and most of the kids snickered. Once people were assured that he was okay, they started to lead their students back to class. Harper led Harry's class back into the room.  
  
Harry put his right hand in his pocket and scratched his head with his left, and let it rest on the back of his neck.  
  
Ronnie had her arms crossed. He looked at her.  
  
"Ronnie I'm fine, really," he tried to convince her, but this time was actually telling the truth.  
  
"You didn't look fine when you were laying on the floor not breathing," she said a little loudly and then quieted down.  
  
"I was.. taking a.. breather.." Harry chuckled at his own joke and took his hand off his neck.  
  
Ronnie did not look too amused. That was okay. He had lots of time to amuse her. At least he was still alive and free from the headache demon.  
  
Now he had to settle what he had learned in his bizarre dream about Ashley and her father. 


	17. Chapter 17

They hadn't let him back in his class for the rest of the day. Harper that is. Guber had had his little say ranting on how Harry Senate shouldn't be in any classroom. Steven had taken over his classes for the remainder of the day not finding a suitable replacement in such short notice. Harry guessed he had just told them to read their textbooks and that was that. As much as Harry didn't really want to leave his class, but he was silently relieved. If the principal had been any one other than Steven, Harry would have been suspended or possibly fired a week ago. But Steven was sympathetic and told him to take a few days off to rest. Rest was the furthest thing from his mind.  
  
Ashley haunted his mind like an angry spirit, just making him more guilty as the time went on. This time, however, he wasn't going to blame himself. He couldn't blame himself. He blamed Harold and would not rest until Harold Whitmore was behind thick metal bars.  
  
Harry sat casually at his desk picking through papers that lay scattered on his desk. He noticed that the papers had previously been picked through. He guessed Harper had been bored.  
  
It didn't matter to him. It's not like there was anything important there.  
  
Harry arranged them into a stack which cleared up some space, when Ronnie walked in. This time he didn't groan. He needed her help.  
  
"I thought you were gone, and I saw your door open.." Ronnie told him upon entrance. Harry straightened up a few more things and then looked up at her.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you," he said and then stood up, crossing his arms wondering how to put the next words he wanted to say. Ronnie said nothing in response but showed that she was intently listening.  
  
"You trust me right?" he asked her in all seriousness, not exactly knowing what she would respond with, but hoping it would be a 'yes'. She sort of looked down and chuckled as if thinking of all the times when she might not have.  
  
"On the most part.. yes, you always mean well," she finally said and looked back up wondering what all of this was leading to. Harry paused still thinking of how to come out with his ridiculous theory.  
  
"When I was.. in the hallway - I wasn't in the hallway," he told her and paced a few steps. Ronnie cocked her head to the side wondering what the hell he was saying.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I was in a hospital room-" he stopped himself before going into one of those 'And you were there.. and you were there.. and the pilsbury dough boy was there..'  
  
"It wasn't a normal hospital room though," he continued, "There was some doctor who was sticking needles in me to 'keep me quiet'."  
  
"Harry, what are you getting at here?" she crossed her arms.  
  
"Ashley was there, Ronnie. She told me that I killed her because I confronted her father, who she said, killed her," Harry finished off looking at a glarey spot on the floor, and then looked up at her. She raised her eyebrows for a second.  
  
"You think that Mr. Whitmore killed his daughter? Harry-" She was going to tell him that he was crazy and insane again. It was all in her voice.  
  
"How did she die?" He interuppted her speech, now curious on the details, no matter how much it pained him to talk about it.  
  
"Well.. she drowned herself in the bathtub-"  
  
"Who drowns themselves in the bathtub?!" No 'that' was ridiculous. He was expecting pills, slit wrist, or maybe even a hanging, but drowning in the bathrtub? Hell, if he were to kill himself, he would at least slit his wrists before the bathrtub.  
  
"There were thousands of tub drownings last year alone-" Ronnie dictated.  
  
"Oh bull." Pause. "That is bull." Harry paced a few more steps, then put his hands at his waist.  
  
"Would you drown yourself in a bathtub?" Harry asked her with a straight face, and she chuckled again.  
  
"Well I wouldn't kill myself, so-"  
  
"If you were in Ashley's place," he finished off. Ronnie took a minute to imagine herself as a depressed teenager.  
  
"No, I don't think-" she started but was once again interuppted.  
  
"Exactly." Harry crossed his arms, ending his case.  
  
"Harry.. A dream is not useable evidence," Ronnie's voice turned Lawyer.  
  
"Then investigate! Have any of those crap talking cops even done that?" Harry threw one hand in the air. "Did they really think that if Ashley's father had killed her, he would have come right out and said it?" He made his voice a little lower to act as Harold Whitmore. "Uh.. yeah officer, while my daughter was taking a shower, I snuck in there, gave her tits a little squeeze and then drowned the shit out of her. Send me to jail please."  
  
Ronnie tried not to smile at his intense sarcasm.  
  
"Well no, but the parents were distraught-"  
  
"If you had just killed your daughter and wanted to pass it off as suicide, wouldn't you fake a few tears too to escape the slammer?"  
  
Ronnie considered his case and then gave in.  
  
"All right. I'll bring it up with the head agent," Ronnie uncrossed her arms.  
  
"Thank you," Harry concluded and walked back around to sit at his desk. Ronnie started on her way out slowly. She looked back at Harry who was back to rearranging his desk, and she smiled.  
  
Such passion in that man, she thought. Then she walked out, letting him be.  
  
-  
  
Harry was just finishing up with his desk when a large figure stormed into his classroom. He looked up at the surprise guest to see a mildly overweight blonde woman in faded jeans, a loose ponytail, and her brow narrowed.  
  
"What kind of teacher do you think you are?!" the voice boomed as she approached Harry's desk. He pushed some more papers aside he was due to grade and raised his eyebrow at the fuming woman.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Today my kid comes home to tell me that his teacher is passed out in the hallway. I don't pay my tax dollars for seizuring teachers!" She put her chubby hands at her waist. Harry pushed himself away from the desk.  
  
"What kind of school is this anyway? There's homosexuals prancing around fondling eachother up in supply rooms, teachers beating the crap out of other teachers, riots-"  
  
"Look, I'm not the one you should be talking to about this," Harry interuppted her heated rant and stood up from his desk and chair.  
  
"Oh, and should I go to that big principal of yours? He's probably too busy eating," the woman insulted, smirking.  
  
"I'm surprised that you happened to take a minute to stop inhaling chili dogs to waddle your fat ass to my classroom," Harry said dryly back, picked up a stack of papers, and started on his way out.  
  
The woman was clearly insulted and even more angry and Harry smiled to himself as he walked down the hall from his classroom.  
  
He hated arrogent people like that. 


	18. Chapter 18

[Authors Note: Sorry for the delay guys - I hope people are still reading.. I have been REALLY busy, and I'm working on like 5 different stories right now. For all those who ARE still reading.. Thanks :) ]  
  
*****  
  
The roads were busy that Friday. Everywhere college kids sped around in seach of a weekend party house to stay at, or fathers sped home for dinner to their wives named Linda, and their kids Sarah and Tom. Harry took a right turn that he was sure was illegal but knew everybody did it anyway, as he headed to the Police station. He hadn't told Ronnie what he was up to; he didn't really even know himself, but he needed Ashley's police report file.  
  
He knew the closest Boston police station all too well. He'd been written up too many times to count for the stupidest things. And it usually was for getting.. involed.. Was a lesson to be learned here..?  
  
No.  
  
He turned into the parking lot that sat outside the white and blue building and pulled into a space at the end of a row of cop cruisers.  
  
"Here goes nothing.." Harry muttered as he stepped out of his car, still not exactly sure on what he was going to do, but not wanting to waste any time.  
  
Walking up to the main doors, he fixed up his suit jacket, and tried to look as 'cop' as he could. Maybe with his dark stare on he could scare somebody. Heh, right.  
  
He expected upon walking through the doors that there would be trillions of cops in uniforms with guns and they would all recognize him and point guns at his head, but the reality was quite opposite. There was not 'one' cop in site.  
  
He stood in the Lobby trying to remember that movie 'Blue Streak' and what that guy had done.. Probably shouldn't have fallen asleep right at the beginning.  
  
"May I help you, sir?" the buxom blonde secretary who looked aged and tired, yet cheerful asked him from the front desk that stood large and looming directly in front of him. She interuppted his thoughts, and before he could consider his next moves, Harry moved into action.  
  
"Yes, I'm Detective Lugensnuff...," he trailed off on the last name so she could barely hear him, and reached in his pocket for his wallet, "I'm here to view a file on a case I'm working on." He took out his wallet and flapped it open for a brief second to show his 'identification'. (Which was actually his driver's license with his very poor bored looking picture on it).  
  
The woman folded her arms and leaned over Larry King style not 'quite' believing his story.  
  
"What did you say your name was?"  
  
Crap. Did he even remember?  
  
"Detective Lugensnuff. Miss I am in a hurry; a girl's life is at stake and if I do not see that file immediately - "  
  
"All right, I'm sorry Detective.. What file was that you needed again?" the blonde asked and leaned back more in her chair, swiveling her chair to her computer on her right.  
  
"Ashley Whitmore." Harry said and looked down at her and her computer. She chewed her gum and her fingers clacked on the keys.  
  
"Lugensnuff did you say? I do not see you on file associated with this case.." she trailed off and then looked up at him quizzically.  
  
Harry's brain cranked at a quick response.  
  
"I was transferred just recently. You know those slow dumbasses down in the data bank basement.." Harry smirked. What the hell was a data bank basement? It didn't matter because the blonde laughed and nodded.  
  
"Second floor, detective." she finished off, and pressed a 'magical' button to allow him to go through to the elevators.  
  
Harry nodded and walked through, still amazed with his good acting job. He never in a million years thought he could pull that off. 


End file.
